


The Field Guide to Basic Angel Wing Surgery

by SK_Kasai



Series: PromptSmiles [3]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Chloe Decker Finds Out, Eventual Deckerstar, F/M, Hurt Lucifer, Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) Needs A Hug, LuciferLockDown, Post-Devil Face Reveal to Chloe Decker, Post-Episode: s03e24 A Devil of My Word, Pre-Season/Series 04, PromptSmiles, Protective Chloe Decker, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:47:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23271985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SK_Kasai/pseuds/SK_Kasai
Summary: Chloe faintly realized that the same knife had been imbedded in her ex-fiancé's chest a few hours ago. She was going to operate on her best friend's shredded angel wings with a stolen murder weapon which happened to be her demon ex-roommate's hell-forged blade.Life was good.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Series: PromptSmiles [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1671241
Comments: 28
Kudos: 319
Collections: Prompts for Smiles





	The Field Guide to Basic Angel Wing Surgery

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nicolebaka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicolebaka/gifts).



> Okay, so I figured I should write a post s3 e24 fic (right of passage and all that)… Hence, when it was suggested as a prompt... Well, I couldn't resist. It was initially supposed to be 2-5k TOPS, but you can see how well that went... Sorry?
> 
> The prompt, suggested by the splendid nicole_baka, was: "Post 3x24 fics were always my weakness so anything with that plus angst with a happy ending would honestly make my week."
> 
> Stay safe and be careful. I hope you enjoy this!

She was Chloe Jane Decker.

Her partner was the actual devil.

The actual, real, honest-to-his-dad devil.

How did everything spiral out of control so fast? Was her life some sort of cosmic joke?

She trembled, unable to take her eyes off of the monseterous visage regardless of how much she wanted to. It was like a train wreck; gruesome but unparalleled in its ability to make you look despite how much you wished not to.

"Detective?" He-it?!!-spoke again, in Lucifer's rich voice, head tilted in confusion, expression so... Lucifer... regardless of being stunted by all the burns and the scars.

She needed to run. She had to leave. To go. To... To do something ...She had no idea what exactly, but it had to be done away from here... from where Satan was real and looking at her with confusion.

By all means, she had been already making plans to get her daughter and jump on the first plane she could find, impulse control be damned to hell (which... which was apparently ruled by the same man who brought her perfect coffee every single day and occasionally read her daughter a bed time story. Wow.)

Chloe turned on her heel and bolted, tears shimmering in her eyes.

**_*cries in Deckerstar*_ **

The detective wrestled with instincts she didn't even know she had. Somehow, worry for the lonely man with soulful brown eyes who had become her best friend (and the love of her life) over the past few years prevailed over her instinctive, primal fear. She tried to focus on memories of her Lucifer. She was a cop; it wasn't like this was the first time she would be putting her compartmentalization skills to use, right?

He’d tried to call her; so much so, in fact, that her phone almost ended up being tossed out the window.

As she rode the elevator up to his Penthouse, mind working overtime and yet oddly numb, she wondered if she was making a mistake. It was probably too late for that now anyways. Did she condemn herself and her daughter to hell by hanging out with the devil? Was that how it even worked?

Chloe had checked her messages and regreted it almost immeaditly. It was stupid of her to do when she knew that hearing from him would probably send her running right back into his arms. 

Besides, the latest text had read “Please, Detective. I need you. Just for a little bit. Please.”

Lucifer never begged. Not even when the situation required something of the like. Moreover, everytime she imagined that word coming from him, her mind flew to that night when she had traced a hand along the two horrendous scars on his back, revealing the first hint of pain and vulnerability that made her want to hide him somewhere, safe from anything that could hurt him.

The image of his wide, horrified eyes and his trembling voice trumped the classical, almost cartoonic images of the devil that her mind was torturing her by conjuring up. If he needed something, then she had to be there for him. It couldn’t be her soul or a blood sacrifice or anything like that, right?

Right. Hopefully.

The elevator doors slid open after an eternity, a very condescending _ping!_ adding to her irksomeness and anxiety.

Lucifer stood in the middle of the apartment, still as a statue. He made quite the statue too, with his devil face still on for starters. His eyes, still burning with hellfire, were like beacons in the near absolute darkness of the vast space. Eventually, as she made her way in with trembling steps, his glazed eyes snapped to her.

She flinched, nearly running back under the effect of some sort of primal fear that she did not understand. Her fingers flew to the gun strapped to her hip, shaking.

Lucifer just smiled. It was bitter and small, wrinkling the paper-thin, angry skin around his darkened lips. His mouth opened, but no words came out. He shook his head, almost in an attempt to clear it, before collapsing face-first to the ground.

Chloe rushed over to him, crouching down, her hands flying to his face immediately. She flinched again, gasping when she touched the hot, jagged skin.

He's still Lucifer. He's still Lucifer. He's still Lucifer.

He was the most annoying person she had ever met. He was the best and the worst thing that had ever happened to her. 

Her Lucifer.

Her Lucifer who broke into her house to make her breakfast.

Her Lucifer who flirted with anyone and everyone, steering _any_ conversation to a dirty place.

Her Lucifer who flinched every time her daughter (or anyone) gave him a hug.

Her Lucifer who looked at her with wonder swirling within his eyes, shocked at every single ounce of love or friendship that she showed him.

She knew all these things. So, why was it so hard to get herself to believe them?

"Lucifer?" She prodded his shoulder, grateful for the fabric between her fingers and what was probably more angry, scraggly skin.

He groaned, curling into a tighter ball. She could see tears streaming from his eyes, crossing the vast planes of his face and dripping precariously to the ground.

The devil could cry. Who knew?

"Lucifer?" She tried again, feeling oddly detached from her own body, "Lucifer, what's wrong? Talk to me? Please."

Was he even able to hear her?

He just brought his knees to his chest, whimpering as he curled into a foetal position. He wreathed on the cool, metal floor, pained gasps escaping his lips.

"Hurts..."

From there on out, any time she touched him was riddled with a violent flinch and choked scream. Her heart twisted as she quickly reached her wit's end. Was he... was he dying? Could he even die? If he died, would the world be a better place? Would the lives of humanity become better?

Her life wouldn't become better though; not without an irritating, pain-in-the-ass civilian consultant who formed a significant portion of it.

She found the thought comforting, holding on to it like an anchor among this storm of chaos as she attempted to find out what ailed her partner.

There were bullet holes marring the front of his wrinkled dress shirt, but no entry or exist wounds. There was a huge cut at his upper bicep, bleeding sluggishly.

His blood was red, just like that of a human's.

Chloe found the discovery amazing, latching on to it as well. Was it because his arm was still pale, well-muscled, and entirely human? Were she to find a cut on his face right now... would it be bleeding green? Purple? Yellow? Hot fucking pink?

Who even knew anything any more. Perhaps the normal, correct colour of blood was fuscia and she just had been living a lie her entire life.

It sure felt like it.

"Lucifer, please." She pleaded, running a hand across his prominent cheek bone, "Y-you need to tell me what hurts. I want to help you. Lucifer, please. Just talk to me."

Perhaps it was a miracle or perhaps it was a curse, but his eyes finally slid open just a crack. The sigh of the maroon sclera and the obsidian conjunctiva had her itching to escape again, but she held on. He needed her. He was in pain and he was her friend and he needed her. It wasn't like he had a lot of options.

"D'ective?" He shuddered, avoiding her gaze, "Y-you... What...are... you... doing here?"

His words were disjoined by laboured, pained gasps.

"Lucifer," She tried, patting his cheek, "I need you to tell me what's wrong."

"Y-you shouldn't... be he...here..." He gasped, "A-are you going to shoot... me, Det-de-detective?"

Shoot him? What... What was he talking about?

"Y-you see a monster, you.. shoot it, yes?" He wheezed, "I know I...deserve it, but... but can you...not? Don' wanna go to hell again... not when I have m' wings... selfish... don't wanna go... Please. At least not yet… Shoot me later… Stay now… Don’t wanna go… please."

She laughed.

It was the most inappropriate reaction that she could think of and yet it was the only one she could manage.

_Satan,_ was begging her. He was afraid of her hurting him. He was almost delirious with wounds that she couldn't find and... what was her life? 

__

The empty laughter seemed to scald her throat on the way up, echoing around. It lasted for a few seconds before the tears began. She stroked his shoulder, wincing when he flinched. 

"Lucifer, I'm not going to shoot you." she assured, "I want to help you."

"Why?"

Where was the plane to Europe when you needed it?

Then again, with him in this state, she highly doubted that she could muster up the heart to leave. He’d begged her to be here despite how he was certain that she was going to kill him. How was she supposed to even start processing that?

"Because you're my best friend." Chloe declared, "Y-you're hurt and we're going to make it better and then you and I will have a long, long chat about this... Expect a lot of questions and... just don't worry about it, yeah? Just pull through whatever this is, Lucifer, and we'll figure the rest out later."

The realization that she was horrified of losing him hit her just then. It was more intense that ever; more intense than that horrid day with Doctor Carlisle and the lab... More intense than that time he disappeared... more intense than several minutes ago, when Pierce wanted to kill him and she'd stepped in front of him, not baring the idea of living in a world without him.

Wait.

If Lucifer was the devil, then Marcus was...

She was going to be sick.

She was Chloe Jane Decker, begging the Adversary to tell her what ailed him, and she was going to be sick.

_Focus Decker._

"Y-you won't leave me then?" He asked, surprising her.

"No." Her hand found its way to his shoulder again, stroking it, "I won't leave, Lucifer. I'm not going anywhere. Let's just take care of you..."

Chloe found herself believing her own words, an odd sense of calm settling over her. The impact of the devil face seemed to lessen. She was still horrified, but worry for her best friend was prevailing. At the very least, her concern managed to quiet down the voice in her head, telling her about how the devil could not be trusted... about how this could all be a ploy or a trap...

She drew in a deep breath, nodding to herself, wondering if there was anything that she could do to stop her hands from shaking this badly.  
Lucifer had been staring at her all the while, confusion burning brighter than the hellfire in his eyes. He didn't seem to find it in him to talk, too busy suffering.

She had to think.

What could have happened?

She'd only felt a stab of pain, the darkness quickly taking a hold of her after Pierce’s goon shot her and she shot Pierce. Marcus. Cain. 

_Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it._

She'd fallen back and... Lucifer. He must have caught her.

She'd heard things. Yelling. A lot of yelling. It was a bit hard to follow through the events with her point of view as tinted with agony as it was. There was screaming.

Lucifer's horrible, raw screaming.

There was screaming and the light which burned at the corner of her closed eyes had dimmed. She'd been enveloped in darkness somehow, literal darkness, before that of unconsciousness took a hold of her completely.

There had been all the bullet shells. Hundreds of them on the floor all around them and-

Feathers. There were feathers everywhere.

She'd woken up on the roof which must have meant...

_"My wings; they're back...!"_

He'd shielded her-them-with his wings. That stupid, stupid man. Just how many bullets were in those things? Assuming that they were of flesh and blood, not some sort of ethereal light or trans-dimensional paradoxical matter...

Marvellous.

Should she call an ambulance? 911? A vet? Was there even some handbook on what to do when your angel's wings get shredded by bullets while he idiotically saves you?

"You need to get your wings out so that I can look at them." She stated, panicked, "Can you... Lucifer, is there anyone that I could call?"

The bitter smile made a come-back.

“Maze?”

“No!” He coughed,”She’s half the reason w-we’re in this… Not on speaking terms...”

Was he… getting used to the pain? She… she’d lost track of the things that she needed an explanation for.

“They’ll heal eventually.” He grinded out, “Just wanted to see your face, Detective. Selfish, I know… But I needed to… Don’t wanna go back to hell without seeing you one last time.”

“You’re going back to hell?” She breathed, horrified at the prospect.

“Not by choice, darling.” Lucifer winced.

“But… if you died, you can just… fly out?” Chloe guessed, raking her brain for whatever knowledge of these matters that it held, “You’re the king of hell, so you get to do whatever you want, right?”

“Afraid it’s not that simple, Detective.” He was smiling, looking at her as if she was something holy, his light in an eternity of darkness.

“We can’t let you die then!” She found herself blurting, gripping his shoulders in some sort of desperate emphasis.

“Detective, I...” He frowned, tilting his head, “I-I don’t understand. Why do you care what happens to me? You know I’m the devil now. The real deal… Why would what becomes of a monster concern you?”

Lucifer sounded confused. There was a tiny taste of bitterness and submission to the ill fate that he was convinced of. He said it all like one would say facts; the sky was blue, the sun rose from the east, and Lucifer Morningstar was a monster who deserved a very pianful death at the very least.

It was the final straw for her.

The tears came harder as her heart shrivelled up in her chest. His pain was almost tangible in the air; a heavy, metallic, encompassing fog that blurred her senses and turned her own world into agony and not much else.

Agony for him. Agony for what he’s been through. Agony for what he was going through just then and there.

The devil couldn’t be like this, right?

“Apologies, Detective.” He winced again, “I-I am not certain regarding the reasons, but I appear to have made you cry. I… didn’t mean to. You don’t have to stay if my presence it is causing you pain of course… This was such a foolish idea...”

Where was the arrogance? The selfishness? The self-centeredness that made her want to tear her hair out every case?

She knew that Lucifer had mind-boggling amounts of baggage. After spending so much time with him, it was impossible to ignore the signs. However, this… this was just a whole new level of messed up.

"I can't just leave you." She hesitated, "Just because you're powering through the pain or something somehow… I don’t care. You’re my partner. Not a monster. Not anything that your stupid mind is coming up with while you’re so busy stewing in self-hatred. Lucifer, if there’s no one to patch you up, then I’ll do it myself."

"Why?" He stared at her blankly, ignoring everything she just said or maybe being incapable of processing it.

Chloe refused to cry. She had too much work to do.

"Okay, first things first," she announced, "we need to get you off the floor and to somewhere more comfortable. Can you stand?"

Nothing.

"Lucifer, can you stand?"

Instead of responding, his face shimmered. In the blink of an eye, his usual handsome appearance returned. She wanted to grab him and trace every single feature of his face. While the display made dread churn in her stomach, somehow solidifying the fact that he was the actual devil, it also served to anchor her to reality. Lucifer was right here, on the floor in front of her. In pain. _Because_ of her.

"Thought you'd appreciate a break." He grinned weakly, "Didn't even realize that I had it on at first... Sorry, Detective."

"You have nothing to apologize for." She assured him, patting his shoulder, ignoring how relived she was at not having to see _it_.

Lucifer snorted again, "As if."

"Lucifer," she sighed, "can you or can you not get up?"

"Anything for you, Detective."

With that, he was pushing himself up by his elbows. She enveloped him in her arms, doing her best to support his long frame. With a lot of struggle and a lot of team work, they manged to stand upright.

Lucifer tried to straighten up, his face paling before he slumped onto her again. Chloe wondered if she could withstand supporting most of his weight like this until they made it all the way to his king-sized bed.

The answer, as she was quick to find out, was a _very_ definitive no.

"Lucifer, please." She pleaded, "Just a little farther."

It was a _lot_ farther, but he didn't seem to notice so she didn't point it out. Despite all the grunting and the hard work, they'd hardly moved several meters by the end of it all.

"Didn't realize you humans h-hurt so much." He panted, eyes half-lided, "This is... intriguing, but I'm afraid the novelty of this agony w-will get old v-v-very soon."

She patted his back, urging him to move forward.

"Does doing whatever it is you want to do necessitate going all the way to my bed?" He managed in one long breath, "I highly doubt we have the same activities in... mind."

He must have been feeling better if he was already making innuendos, right? Also, her brain must have been processing it all better if she managed an eye roll at his shenanigans. All good things...

"Lucifer."

"Anything for you, Detective." He gave her a small smile before starting on their precarious journey again.

She swallowed thickly, focusing on trying to prevent them both from toppling over and crashing to the floor. There would be time to discuss this all once she was sure that he wasn't going to die on her.

When they got close enough, Lucifer turned towards his expensive Italian-leather couch.

"Lucifer, no." She scolded, "You need to get in bed."

"I thought you'd never ask, Detecive!" He grinned, dazed and pained, but still somehow suggestive enough.

"Lucifer Morningstar." Chloe chided.

"Don't think I can make it that far." He confessed after a long moment of silence, turning to bury his nose in her hair.

She steadied him, saddened by the revelation. He really was in bad shape, wasn't he?

"Can you comfortably spread your wings on the couch?" She asked, searching for some middle ground.

"Spread my...? Detective, what are you talking about?"

"I need to mend your wings, Lucifer." She reminded him, wondering what the extent of his awareness and cognition was.

"Mend my..." He echoed, head snapping up, "You were serious?!!"

"Of course I was." She frowned, "Why did you think I wanted you to move?"

"I dunno." He slurred, "I... I don't understand why you're still... here, Detective. I-I have no idea what's going on. I am probably dreaming... But in case this is all real, I thought I'd listen; the least I can do for all you've done for me."

All she'd done for him?

He'd... His wings... He got shot... Over and over again and he... he...

Since when did Lucifer Morningstar listen to anything anyone said? Since when did he sound anything short of pompous and perfect? She'd heard an inkling of the vulnearability that was lining his voice before; but it never lasted for more than a minute.

"Come on." She prompted, hardly capable of speaking past the emotions his words provoked within her. Their talk was going to be long. Very, very, _very_ long.

"Anything for you, darling." He muttered again, defeated.

Chloe was sure that her muscles were going to ache for ages after this. Actually, at the moment, she was wondering if they would ever recover. It didn't seem to matter in the great scape of things.

Soon enough, they encountered a bigger problem.

"Stupid stairs." She groaned.

"They're Italian marble." Lucifer informed her, almost offended on the behalf of the precious stairs.

She couldn't care less about what they were made of, unless the material possessed some sort of magical quality that could get them up said stairs quickly.

She risked turning her head up to look at her partner, grimacing. It had been a while since Lucifer's eyes opened. His brow was pinched in agony, his lips white, and his skin ashen. Also, his hair was dishevelled, curly strands escaping the composed, gelled appearance that he spent preposterous amounts of time perfecting every morning.

"Just a little bit more, Lucifer." She coaxed, "You can do it."

Lucifer didn't say anything, bracing himself for his upcoming tournament.

She was beyond spent and they hadn't even started. The Detective didn't even want to think about what Lucifer was feeling.

It was tough.

They nearly went down ten times and she was basically dragging Lucifer most of the way. (damn was he heavy)

But they made it!

They made it just in time for her to dispose of him on the huge bed, laying him down gently before collapsing beside him herself.

"You can't go to sleep, Lucifer." She chided.

His face was already mashed into one of the black pillows. Lucifer was not moving.

Another thought struck her.

"Lucifer!" She yelled, leaping to get closer to him, "Lucifer! Are you...?"

"Regrettably still alive." He mumbled, hardly audible between the suffering and the pillow muzzle.

Regrettably?

Regrettably...

"Listen here, I don't know what you think will happen, but I'm not letting you die, Lucifer, okay?" She assured him, reaching over to run a hand through his hair, "I don't care how or why, but you're not dying. Not tonight. You still have too much to explain to me, Mister."

Lucifer did not reply. He seemed to relax under the effect of her hand in his hair, so she went on for a minute before deducing that relaxing him was probably a bad idea.

"Can you get them out?" She asked, awkward and uncertain. Was that even the appropriate term?

Again, Lucifer did not reply. He was dead still, lying like a corpse on the lavish bed.

She shook him, finding it harder to find a balance between gentleness and roughness in her urge to wake him up and her fear regarding the meaning of him not waking up.

He groaned, turning his head, giving her the barest hint of his face.

"Thank God." She sighed on reflex, running a hand through his soft locks again.

"Dad has nothing to do with it." Somewhere beyond the tiredness and the pain, she could almost detect a hint of an eye roll and the typical brand of Lucifer exasperation when it came to all things God-related.

Because God, with a capital G, existed.

Because God was the one who...

"He's probably laughing His ass off at me right now, Detective."

Woah.

"Well, that'd make him an asshole." She declared, sighing when Lucifer scoffed. Was he even listening to her? Could he?

She needed to act fast.

"Wings out please." She ordered, bracing herself. Could humans even see that sort of thing?

It took some more pleading and urging before Lucifer slumped into the bed, defeated.

He shuddered, rolling his right shoulder first.

The scream that emanated from his lips was going to feature in many of her future nightmares. Chloe was sure of it. She hardly had the time to get over the emotional repercussions of the first one before Lucifer rolled his other shoulder. If it was possible, the second scream was even more harrowing. 

Chloe blinked through her tears furiously, as if in hope of changing the scene that they were conveying to her.

She remembered what the wings from the auction looked like. They had been beautiful, a joy to look at and observe. Lucifer had scoffed, declaring that they did not even light a candle in comparison with the originals. She'd dreamt of them that night; large, luminescent things of outwardly beauty, gleaming from where they were on Lucifer's back.In such a scene, it was easy to believe that her partner was far from delusional. Perhaps he hadn't looked like the devil, but he'd surely looked like the most beautiful of all angels.

The wings in front of her were also bound to haunt her nightmares.

They were more red than white for starters, scarlet blood running down them in rivets from certain wounds and sitting ominously, caked and clotted, from others. Countless feathers were missing or broken. Hardly any seemed to be in their correct alignment. Moreover, there were odd, raised, dark welts on some of the feather-less patches. It all looked beyond painful, setting a whole new definition for carnage. As she inspected the abused appendages more, Chloe estimated no less than about fifty or so bullets.

How was he even alive?

How had he gotten here?

How could he even look at her, considering that this was her fault?

How could he talk and joke and make lewd comments?

He'd passed out sometime after the second wing made an appearance. At the very least, that was what she was trying to convince herself of.

"Lucifer!" She cried, shaking his shoulder, "Lucifer!"

No response.

She brought her shaking fingers to his neck, fingers finding his carotid with practiced ease. For a moment, her world shattered as she felt nothing but cold, clammy skin under her hand. However, the moment passed, and the weakest of pulses fluttered under her fingers.

Thank-

Well, thank someone.

"Lucifer?" She prompted gently.

Of course, she didn't get a response. Patting his face yielded nothing as well. Worse even, shaking his shoulder, even with as much care and gentelness as she could manage, only elicited a muffled scream.

Chloe would have liked to say that she was keeping a cool head and staying as far away from panic. The statement held a bit of truth in it, but it was quickly turning into lies as she regarded her devil and his beyond mangled wings.

"First aid kit?" She tried.

"Right. Didn't think you'd respond," She admitted, "But it was worth a shot."

She was more alone that she imagined. It wasn't like she could call any of their human friends to ask for help for this.

_"Hey, Dan? Yeah, come help me perform emergency surgery on Lucifer's wings please. No, they got hurt really bad while he was shielding us from a hailstorm of bullets..."_

Yeah, they advocate to get them a shared room in a psych ward. Of course, Chloe would not have objected. She doubted that she could stand being away from him at the moment, so being trapped in a room with a Lucifer who was conscious seemed too good to be true.

"You being you," she began, talking out to him, partially because it helped her think and partially because it reminded her that he was alive and capable of responding at some point, "you'd think you're too immortal, two m's of course, to ever need a first aid kit."

How _did_ the immortality thing work anyways? Was it real? Were angels incapable of being harmed or just more immune to harm? It had to be the latter, judging by the multitude of wounds she had seen Lucifer acquire. Perhaps the supernatural was in how fast he healed? She added it to the list of questions to badger him with once this was all over.

"But, you're nothing if not a good host." Chloe frowned, scanning the room, "You really care about that sort of thing, so you must have at least one first aid kit for all your...lovers."

It was sound logic. She rummaged through a few drawers, trying to think like Lucifer would. As she hurriedly shut a drawer that contained items that she would rather forget about, Chloe realized that she was probably looking at this from a wrong angle. She turned on her heel and hurried to his bathroom, groaning at how large it was. Thankfully though, she found an entire drawer stocked with three first aid kits and a _lot_ of other useful things. It would stand to reason too, considering the sheer number of people that Lucifer "hosted" every night or so.

Chloe smiled in triumph, scanning the black and gold bathroom for something to put her bounty in. She settled on grabbing a huge, fluffy black towel that was monogrammed (of course). She threw in two of the first aid kits, two packs of tissues, a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, some gloves, and anything that she thought might come in handy. 

Chloe would have preferred a scalpel some the bullets, but one of Maze's curved demon knives would have to do. (She almost tripped on it as she carried everything back to her partner's bedside)

Chloe faintly realized that the same knife had been imbedded in her ex-fiancé's chest a few hours ago. She was going to operate on her best friend's shredded angel wings with a stolen murder weapon which happened to be her ex-roommate's hell-forged blade. 

Life was good.

She layed out her equipment neatly on the nightstand, swiping anything else that was there to the floor. Lucifer could probably deal with that. 

She'd just came back from filling the largest bowl-shaped item-a bucket that was probably used for icing alcohol-when she noticed that Lucifer had shifted. He'd craned his neck just the tiniest bit and his eyes were open. Granted, she'd had too look twice to confirm that, barely open as they were. But, it was better than the alternative.

"You... you're still here?" Lucifer muttered.

"Where else would I be?" She wondered, grabbing the bottle of hydrogen peroxide.

"Away. Safe." He retorted easily, blinking at her, "Maybe I'm just imagining you... Would make a lot more sense. Wouldn't even be the first time, Detective. Although we'd be doing activities that are far more... entertaining."

She found it in her to snort and almost giggle, ignoring how his words stabbed her heart and aggregated wounds that she did not know she carried. What kind of life did you lead if you expected your best friend to shoot you and abandon you? If you accepted it as a fact? If hallucinating them not killing you was more reasonable and believable than having that actually happen in real life?

Having sympathy for the devil was real. Chloe didn't think she could possibly sympathize with anyone more. She refrained from labelling it as pity, imagining how horrified and affronted her Lucifer would have been at that notion. This Lucifer though... this vulnerable, hurt version of her invincible partner...

"You're awake." She smiled, brushing his hair back from his brow.

"I'm a monster." He countered almost immeaditly, blinking as if to ward off the anguish of the statement, "Assuming you're real, Detective, which I highly doubt, you need to leave. Can't live with the thought of hurting you... More than I have already, that is."

"You're _not_ a monster." She declared, cupping his cheek to try and emphasize it, "And I'm real, Lucifer. Incredibly real."

A part of her wished that that wasn't true, but she also couldn't imagine him alone in here, passed out from the pain, bleeding out alone in the dark.

"Well, 'm sorry, then."

Sorry.

He was sorry.

Huh.

"Why are you sorry exactly?"

"You're here and you're real." He explained, his eyes blinking open again.

"Lucifer, there is _nothing_ for you to apologize for, understand?" Her lips wobbled, and the crushing desire to weep her soul out at how unfair this whole mess was rushed back with vengeance, "You're my friend. While I don't really enjoy the thought of operating on you with a demon blade and a first aid's kit worth of medical supplies with hardly any training at all, I'd do it again and again and again if it's what you need. That's what friends do, Lucifer."

"Don't think I have any friends." He admitted, shifting just a bit. His wings shuddered and his face contorted in pain. Once it was all over, his cheek was pressed closer to her palm, seeking out her touch. She stared at her hand in mute horror, continuing stroking the side of his face. He'd moved just to be closer and that was... woah.

"Of course you have friends." She went for a reassuring smile and failed, her face reflecting the horror and sadness simmering within, "You have me, obviously. You have Maze, Ella, and Linda. There's also Amenadiel... You even have Dan and Trixie..."

"Right." Lucifer scoffed, "Maze betrayed me, put me through psychological torture, and almost got us killed by working with Cain. Ms Lopez will surely flee if she were ever to realize my true self. I'm sure her beliefs demand it or something. Doctor Linda... I've only brought her pain and suffering through her association with me. Daniel blames me for poor Charlotte's untimely death and for his divorce. My oaf of a brother got his wings back and he's happily frolicking on a cloud, roaming the streets of the Silver City, and having fun mocking the devil with the rest of our lovely kin. The spawn doesn't understand the gravity of who I am. I suppose she will once she grows up. But, luckily, I'll never have to see that day because the Detective, the one person I cared about above all others, knows I'm the devil now so she will never let me near her or her spawn ever again. With good reason too. So tell me, who are these friends you speak of? Enough lies! I ruin everything I touch; humans included."

They were both crying at the end of his rant.

Chloe dropped the blade and the cloth that she was sanitizing it with. It clattered to the ground with a deafening crash. She stared at her partner, bitter tears rolling down his hollow cheeks silently.

His words... His admissions...

It was...

She nearly tripped in her hast to reach him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Half her body was hanging off the bed, her torso was twisted awkwardly in her attempt to stay away from his bloodied wings, and she was almost on top of him. Chloe did not care. Tears blurred her vision, seeping into the fabric of his shirt. She worried that they might burn him. As a matter of fact, devil or no devil, she was certain that she was going to spend the rest of her life worrying about him.

Lucifer giggled, wiggling to get closer to her. 

"This... 's nice, Detective. I think I love this dream, even with my bloody wings being on fire."

"Lucifer, you're not a monster." She sobbed into his, cupping the back of it when she realized that the wings were blocking her access to his back, "You... you're so wrong about what you said, you hear me? I'm so sorry..."

If half of it was true, she was considering hiding him somewhere forever. The world did not seem to deserve him.

Monsters didn't worry about being monster, right?

"You're not evil. You're not a monster." Chloe stressed, "I... I don't know what happened between you and Maze or you and Amenadiel, and I had no idea that the stuff Dan was saying was getting to you. I don't know much, but I _know_ that we love you. That Trixie loves you. That _I_ love you."

Her heart stopped when she realized what she'd said.

Where had that come from?

Their kiss seemed so far away, locked in a time where everything was infinitely simpler and infinitely more complex that it was right then. 

_"You're not the devil, not to me."_

She'd promised. He'd looked at her with disbelief, spelled out clearly on his face and she'd disregarded it. Faced with it as she was now, Chloe found herself downing in an ocean of what-if's and because's.

She loved him.

She'd loved him for a very long time.

Regardless of how either of them tried to deny it and escape it, their relationship seemed to be inevitable.

How could she not love him?

He was the sweetest, funniest man that she'd ever met.

He was the strongest and the weakest; the most charming and the most annoying. He turned every waking moment spent with him into a special memory; fond or otherwise. She needed him. She knew that he needed her. She'd known for a long time.

So what was the hold up for? What happened to the talk that they were going to have after confronting Pierce?

_"No more hiding."_

Perhaps this was it; the talk.

Lucifer didn't reply, staring at her as if she had lost her mind. He looked horrified by the admission. Part shocked and part scandalized. Whatever it was, he clearly didn't believe her. Did he even know that she was there? He didn't seem to a minute ago. 

"No one could love a monster." He rolled his eyes, whispering the statement into her hair, "I should've learned that a long time ago. I have no idea why I keep trying. I'm so, so sorry."

She let out another choked sob, tightening her grip on him. Lucifer was limp, incapable of putting up any resistance. He just laid there, bewildered and confused, possibly dying.

She was going to fix this. She was going to change his mind. She was going to teach him love and acceptance even if it were the last thing that she ever did. Also, she was going to work on finding a way to set up a meeting with his family...Just how many angels did the heavenly host contain? She'd like to punch them all.

_First things first though..._

Wings. She had to fix his wings. Their complicated relationship would have to come after she ensured his wellbeing.

"Would hydrogen peroxide harm you?" Chloe asked, wondering if there was a handbook or a list of regular things that angels were allergic to or harmed by. A bit like chocolate and dogs?

Lucifer shook his head no. 

She moved to extract herself from his arms, which had loosely wrapped around her some point after her revelation. Lucifer whimpered, pulling her closer.

"No, please don't go." He whined, "I wanna die with you holding me, Detective. It's nice. The nicest thing I've _ever_ felt."

Later, Chloe would marvel at how she mustered up the heart to let go of him.

"Lucifer, you're not dying. Remember what you told me on our first case together?" She asked him, caressing the side of his face.

"Are you sure that we hadn't met? I could've sworn I've seen you naked. Have we had sex?" He recited, eyebrow slightly raised.

"No. Not that one." She giggled, shaking her head, "After I got..."

Realization dawned on his face. The spark that had gleamed in his eyes just a second ago vanished. He returned to looking broken and defeated, seemingly sinking deeper into the matress.

"I won't let you?"

"Yeah." She smiled, poking him in the chest, "Time to repay you, I suppose. _I_ won't let _you_ die, Lucifer Morningstar." She promised, "Not that friends need debts to help each other out."

"You don't have to repay me." He informed her as she began to assemble her tools, ignoring the "friends" remark, "There is nothing to repay."

"You saved my life!" She turned around, settling by his hip to try and decide where she was going to start, "Many, many times, Lucifer."

"I was the one who endangered it with my foolishness in the first place." He scoffed, "More often than not. Even when you thought I was a broken, traumatized man... You should have probably left."

"Lucifer, no... Don't... Just..."

Could she stop eons worth of him thinking like that?

She missed the old Lucifer; as in the Lucifer from that morning. While he always had his mood swings and his vulnerable moments, he was, for all intents and purposes, allergic to most real and "weak" emotions. He was the most arrogant, self-centered person she knew. While Chloe had always reckoned that there was a lot of pain simmering beneath the surface ever since she saw his scars, he'd never shown it. Lucifer was still the same broken, traumatized man. She just happened to believe that he was also the devil now.

 _He can be vulnerable with me_ , she decided, _He can can tell me all these things and I'll listen. We'll talk and we'll fix them..._

The selfish part of her that wanted to stop the agony piercing through her heart every time her friend opened his mouth could be damned.

"I'll start with your right wing." She informed him, "It looks a bit less... torn up."

Lucifer maintained his silence.

She was really going to do this, huh?

She ran a hand along the length of the appendage, wincing when some of the broken feathers fell away completely. Lucifer had tensed and she wondered if she was doing something wrong.

"Can't you take anything?"

She needed him to guide her through the most of it, but surely some painkillers wouldn't be too bad? He must have at least some useful drugs for this...

"Don't wanna. Not yet. Later. Bloody celestial metabolism will burn through it anyways."

Chloe would have liked to disagree. She had a few experiences with bullets, enough to know that this was not going to be pleasant. Then again, was experience needed for such a conclusion?

They were running out of time. 

She stroked a few of the feathers, noticing how Lucifer let out a moan and relaxed a bit.

"You can feel that?"

"Wings are probably the most sensitive in my whole body..." He slurred.

So a gentle touch to them was this euphoric. Huh.

But how would it feel to have bullets extracted from them?

Lucifer did not seem to care. She was sure that a part of him still thought that she must have been joking when she said that she was going to help him with them. Evidently, he had taken some of the bullets himself. The portions of the wings closer to his body were mostly devoid of bullets; just wounds in various stages of healing and some vicious looking holes were the bullets must have cut right though.

But the rest of it...

The most pressing matter was some raised welts that looked incredibly odd. Upon further inspection, Chloe had surmised that they were formed of skin that had healed _over_ bullets that Lucifer could not remove with time (hence the blade). She shuddered, almost sick at the thought of what she would have to do.

The tweezers-she was desperate-that she had shook in her arms. She took a deep breath, caressing the silky feathers one last time before beginning her quest.

It was tedious and long.

Chloe began with removing the exposed bullets, afraid that the skin might heal over them if she didn't. Just how quickly did Lucifer heal anyways? The great idiot...

She worked her way from the part closest to his body, stroking the skin between the two wings and muttering empty assurances all the while. She was certain that Lucifer was sobbing into the pillow, flinching and wincing and groaning every time she managed to extract a bullet.

The whole ordeal was going to haunt her for the rest of her life and then some more. As she disinfected the wounds-did angels even get infections?!!-she wondered if she could find a way to erase the horrible sounds Lucifer was making from her mind. Every few minutes, she would lean down and press a kiss to his back or anywhere she could reach as she cleaned the wounds and sanitized everything.

Some bullets were easier to extract than others. Some took her a lot of time, pulling apologies and consolations from her lips as her partner wreathed on the bed. Lucifer hardly screamed though. Perhaps he was too tired to or perhaps his pain threshold was just that high. Maybe he was ashamed of "showing more weakness" in front of her. It was such a Lucifer thing to do that it made her want to cry and laugh all at once.

Once she finished with the easy ones, Chloe set on the task of removing the ones buried deep within his skin. Thankfully, the newly formed skin seemed to be thin and less vascularized than usual. It was pinkish and soft, solid but not yet completely formed. She almost bolted at the thought of cutting into her partner with a demon blade. She was not qualified for this. She... what was she thinking?

But it wasn't like Lucifer had any better options.

She swallowed the bile in her throat and began working. Chloe summoned everything in her arsenal about this; from official training to cheesy, soap-opera scenes. She tried to not think too much, almost feeling herself float out of her body. She comforted, cut, pulled out, reassured, disinfected... Over and over and over again. So much so that she wondered if she was stuck in some sort of hellish loop. Lucifer fazed in and out of consciousness; sporadically passing out amid gasps of pain. She kept going, the alternative in her mind worse.

There was a break after she was fully done with the first wing.

Chloe returned to her devil's side, lying down next to him. She pulled him into her arms, stroking his face, his neck, and his wings. Lucifer didn't say anything. He just hid his face in the crook of her neck, his sweat and tears soaking through the material of her shirt. She just needed to feel him close for a short while, to tire and wipe out the image of the _seventeen_ bullets that she had pulled out.

She managed to convince herself to let go after about fifteen minutes, standing up and studying his left wing. Perhaps the fact that Lucifer was right-handed was the reason his left wing seemed to fare worse? Her work was almost automatic this time. Her hands moved out of their own accord, shining with maroon blood. _His_ blood. Her lips moved, offering everything from apologies to false reassurances again and then some more.

Short breaks every now and then seemed to help. Tender touches and feather-light kisses also somehow seemed to have an impact on him. The detective marvelled at how something as pathetic as a pat on the cheek could have such an effect on him. The answer scared her.

The wounds did not bleed too much. Lucifer's pain seemed to recede to some extent. It was as if the bullets had been poison to him. Were they?

Sometime around the halfway-through-the-second-wing mark, Chloe's fear of him dying began to decline. He seemed to be healing... not losing as much blood at least.

She worked well into the wee hours of the morning, having arrived late herself. The Detective persisted, imagining a healthy, happy Lucifer in her arms. The image seemed distant, but it helped. She worked to the sound of his irritating voice in the back of her head when he passed out completely, not waking up like he did before. He was alive and he was healing. He was going to be back to annoying her in no time.

Chloe thrived on that fact, not wanting to think of what anything else would imply. They were partners and that was all that mattered.

**_*cries in Deckerstar*_ **

When Lucifer woke up, he was overcome with a sense of serenity.

He kept his eyes close, trying to discern the reason for how he was feeling.

There was a warm body lined up along his, holding him. Shifting just the tiniest bit informed him that his face was buried in said person's shoulder. He would recognize that divine smell anywhere.

Lucifer cracked his eyes open, his heart stuttering in his chest.

The Detective.

She was here. With him. _Holding_ him. Snoring (like an "Albanian field wench"; nothing odd there), her legs intertwined with his, and an arm on his wing while the other cradled his head.

His mind could not find a plausible explanation for any of this.

He began to panic.

His wings felt better. They weren't healed per se, thanks to the Detective's presence. However, they didn't hurt as much so she really must've... 

He shivered, thinking at how the pain had intensified suddenly last night. He didn't even consider the Detective approaching... Actually, he'd tucked his wings away, firm in his belief that the best current tactic was "ignore it until it goes away". He'd removed what he could and left the rest. How did humans get around feeling so much pain from some bullets? The Detective's presence had just... Ugh.

It wasn't as if Lucifer would trade her presence her with him for anything though. Grotesque and extreme as it was, he was certain that he'd take a gun and re-use his wings as target practice if it meant that he got to wake up like this. His mind was fuzzy and his nerves were frayed; Lucifer questioned just how clear and logical his line of thinking was at the moment.

He didn't care.

He needed to get away from here. 

The Detective was beautiful and pure; a literal miracle. Somehow, he wasn't feeling as selfish as he had been. The thought of hurting her, of ruining her with his presence was too much to bear. After all, hurting the Detective in any way, shape, or form was anathema.

He was a monster. He'd killed. _Twice_. He'd caused so much harm, so many problems... He'd been a right prick, ignoring it all. However, seeing the horrified look on the Detective's face as he stood by Cain's corpse... that had broken him. He couldn't pretend to be a good person anymore. He was the devil and he was evil. It was a fact that chased him everywhere he went. Lucifer concluded that he should start taking responsibility and go back to hell, where he belonged, where he couldn't hurt these good, amazing people.

If he went back, he'd never have to see that look on the Detective's face. The one that broke him. The one that made him wish that one of his loving family members would smite him and get this over with. 

He moved to get up, testing his wings and grimacing. Should he put them away? 

Lucifer decided that he shouldn't. The faster that they healed, the faster that he could go back to where he belonged. Unless of course he went ahead and-

"Lucifer, I swear, if you make a move to get out of this bed, I _am_ going to shoot you."

He startled and flinched, wincing as his wings lit up with renewed agony.

Her hands were stubbornly pulling him back down, holding on to him with significant determination.

"Detective..." He whispered, almost a prayer in its sacredness. 

Her eyes were barely open. Her hair was loose and wild, tickling his shoulders. Her voice was rough with the sleep. But it had to be the most beautiful scene that he had ever encountered in his immortal life.

Hence why he should leave and stop ruining-

"I can almost hear you self-hating, Lucifer." She whispered into his ear, groaning, "You're... I love you. I love you so much, that I have no idea what I'm gonna do with you sometimes. I love you and I need you and I want you to be with me every single day; to wake up like this every morning... to go to sleep like this every night... I love you and I'm so, so sorry. About everything. We'll talk, Lucifer. You need a shower, for all the blood, and probably some food and pain killers. But afterwards, we'll sit down and we'll talk and talk and _talk_ until I manage to get you to understand that I love you and that you're not a monster and that you're... Just sleep for now, Lucifer, please? Unless you need something, let's just go back to sleep... just for a little bit..."

He craned his neck, looking at her, feeling more than he had ever felt in eons. She... She'd said all that, voice soft and calming. She'd ran a hand through his hair, stating these words as if they were an oath.

He was still not worth it. He knew that he would have to get her to understand, that he would have to save her from himself. But somehow, when she pressed their lips together and shushed him, whispering her words of love over and over again... 

Lucifer curled into her, settling back down. His wings shuddered, informing him of their discomfort. The tears came and they didn't stop for a long, long time. However, safe in her arms as he was, Lucifer slowly began to believe her promise. He wrapped his arms around her, relaxing for what felt like the first time in an eternity.

It would all be alright because the Detective said so.

No more lies, right?

No more lies.

**Author's Note:**

> So... thoughts?
> 
> Why is it so hard to stop writing for post 3x24? Maybe it's all the pain? The emotional abuse of that awesome episode was just too much...
> 
> This is part of a project started by the awesome NotOneLine on Twitter to basically make this quarantine situation a _little_ more bearable. If you have any Lucifer prompts that you would like to see, suggest it in the comments or in: https://twitter.com/NotOneLineFF/status/1241071297930690563


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